


Keep Doing The News

by hesterbyrde



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blood, Dismemberment, F/M, Gore, Hospital, Hurricanes & Typhoons, Season 3 Spoilers, Spoilers, Strong Language, haiyan, slight alternate ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic beginning from an alternate ending to Season 3. Contains spoilers for the end of Season 3.</p><p>After the funeral, Lucas Pruitt fired or chased off anyone involved with the ACNgage story. Four months later, the former staff of NewsNight find themselves adrift in careers and jobs that can't hold a candle to the passionate, albeit fleeting, glory days of ACN. But a chance meeting and a little luck proves that some people are just meant to keep doing the news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October 18, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the brain-child of my incredibly pessimistic expectations for the end of Season 3. I really did think that Pruitt was just going to fire everyone, and I knew that I would be unable to leave it alone. So that is how this idea got started, and I felt like writing it even though things ended far better than I was expecting for the crew of ACN. Weirdly, it's very Maggie-centric, which is odd since she's one of my least favorite characters. I found I like writing for her though.
> 
> The rating is Teen and up... there's a significant amount of colorful language and some blood later on.
> 
> I may be making this a series... stay tuned.
> 
> And of course... thanks for reading!

***

It had all gone to shit when Charlie died.

The day they buried their former president, Lucas Pruitt fired everyone involved in the ACNgage story and the mutiny that followed. Don. Sloan. Anyone who helped them, which was most of the NewsNight staff. And he fired Neal in absentia for “taking unrequested leave” or some bullshit like that.

Pruitt had made a show of installing Mackenzie as President of ACN, but her contract was deplorable. She was a puppet. A show piece. That didn't last long with Will fresh out of jail. All it took was Pruitt calling Mackenzie his lap-dog in range of Will's hearing. He was spoiling for a fight, and he didn't need a cause so just as that to punch Pruitt in the face. So they were gone, too. Will did literally break Pruitt's face though, so that was something at least.

Jim had set Maggie up with an interview with ACN-DC for a field producer position, but Pruitt had poisoned the well for her. She got passed over with the grand flourish of the agency hiring Pruitt's niece, who Jim had to train, before he was fired. Maggie left in brave-minded solidarity. Pruitt had likely been counting on that.

It was a clean sweep. NewsNight at ACN was no more.

October 18, 2013

Maggie had gotten freelance writing contracts here and there since leaving ACN, but nothing substantial. Jim was a little luckier. Mack's connections at CNN had gotten him that position covering natural disasters he had so coveted when things looked shaky during his first day at ACN. Had that been “shaky?” Maggie had a new definition for that word now that the world had shaken totally out from beneath her in a matter of days.

Things were okay in a frozen kind of way. Like they were still in the denial stage of grief even as the weeks ticked by. She couldn't speak for Jim, but Maggie kept feeling like one morning, the phone would ring, and it would be Mackenzie with a breaking story out of Wherever and they would all be off to the races. Until then they just would go through the motions of their surrogate lives, waiting on the world they loved to come back.

When Jim was out of town, and he usually was, Maggie would go bar-hopping alone. She never could say why. She knew it was borderline dangerous, since she still looked sixteen, doe eyed, and not at all like she had been shot at in Africa. Still, she couldn't stand the quiet of their apartment until she had a few drinks in her, and something about her pride wouldn't let her drink alone at home.

UrbanSpoon had directed her to a bar in lower Manhattan, just off of Broadway. Just a hole in the wall, made fancy by an all wood interior that had probably belonged to a restaurant too expensive for Maggie's current bank statement. It was late, and the place was crawling with theatre types, all fresh off the stage and hankering for a drink to wind down from the shows. Maggie spied an empty stool and began weaving her way towards it, but a familiar face peeking out of a booth towards the back caught her eye.

It was Neal, apparently bidding farewell to his companions for the evening (two Rockettes by the look of them.). He met Maggie's eyes and they both stopped. All his roguish humor evaporated and they just stared for a moment, both clearly not having expected to see the other here. Manhattan was a small town in a certain way, when you thought about it. And while the ACN ashes had scattered, they hadn't gone far. Someone was bound to run into someone else at one point or another. At a fundraiser, or press pool, or at a dive near the theatre district. But it was like running into each other now was a sort of tacit admission of something Maggie knew she and Jim, and apparently Neal too, had been avoiding facing.

There would be no going back. No more old man on a donkey pretending at chivalry and bravery better than those who actually claimed those things. Their ACN was gone.

Neal sat down in his booth again and beckoned Maggie to join him, pushing empty drink glasses aside as she slid into the booth across from him.

“Hi!” Maggie said, far more cheerfully than she meant to. Certainly more than she was feeling.

“Hey Maggie. It's good to see you.” He replied, laughing gently at her tone.

“You too.” she said, still unable to quench the false chipperness that was always her knee-jerk reaction to social awkwardness. “Gosh, I haven't seen you since-”

“I got back from Venezuela. Not quite four months ago.” He cut her off.” You and Jim threw me a party at your apartment after Pruitt fired everyone.” Neal licked his lips and smiled humorlessly. 

Maggie swallowed. Trust Neal to not make this easy. She knew he wasn't being nasty. Bluntness was his shield as surely as sounding like a cheerleader on helium was hers. She fell silent and looked at her hands, wrung together on the top of the table. She saw Neal gesture to the bartender out of the corner of her eye. Eight shots of clear liquid appeared at their table a few minutes later.

Maggie smiled then. Her first genuine smile since spotting him. “Trying to get me drunk, Sampat?”

“No, just trying to make this easier on both of us.” He admitted wearily, picking up the first shot, and gesturing for her to do the same. “To Charlie Skinner.”

“To Charlie.” Maggie agreed, clinking their shots together and downing hers. “Ooh. Minty.”

“Peppermint vodka. They make it in house.” Neal replied. “So, what are you up to these days.”

“I'm doing some freelance writing, but not much else.” She said, thankful that burn of the alcohol was already taking the edge off her false perkiness.

“What about Jim?”

“Natural disasters on CNN.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Promotion there is not the easiest thing on his level. It's pretty cut-throat.”

“Even with his history? I mean, he's got to have an impressive resume.”

Maggie nodded. “Yeah. He... um... he relied on Mac a lot, y'know? She just sort of took him everywhere and without her around to vouch for him...” She trailed off. “It's just not a very friendly environment.”

“That sucks.”

“It really does. But at least he's working.”

“Have you heard from Mackenzie or Will lately?”

“She's pregnant.”

“No kidding?” 

“Yep. Baby shower is in a couple of weeks. Will is apparently a basket case according to their Facebook posts.”

“Oh Jesus, I'll bet.” Neal laughed. “Cheers to Baby McAvoy. God help the child.” They clinked glasses again and drained them dry.

“How are you doing? What are you up to these days?” Maggie asked after a long pause.

“IT support at the Hooper Financial Group. Sloan is on their Board of Directors and got me the gig.”

“Yeah? How's she doing?”

“I don't ever see her.”

“Oh.” Maggie sighed softly. “You ever see Don?”

“No. What about you?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Saw something on his Facebook that mentioned his dad was in the hospital but that was weeks ago. Never did find out what was wrong.”

There was another uncomfortable pause. Maggie felt the vodka sloshing into her brain, replacing her false perkiness with a directness that mirrored Neal's disposition.

“How -are- you doing?” She asked, finally. “You never answered that.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

He blew a raspberry as he made a show of thinking of an answer. “I'm... I'm doing alright. I mean...” He scooped up his next shot and downed it without offering a toast. “I'm good.” He said finally. Maggie watched the hollow expression he had worn when he first spotted her in the bar creep back into his face. She stared at him for a breath before downing her own third shot.

“I'm not good.” She said, grimacing. She could feel the familiar sensation of intoxicated bravado surging in her veins.

“You... don't like freelancing or-”

“I don't like not working at ACN.” She answered sharply, looking Neal square in the eye.

To his credit, he didn't flinch. He just dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “Me too.” he replied, almost too softly to be heard over the pulsing music.

“What did we do wrong?” Maggie almost yelled, slamming her hands down on the table.

Neal didn't reply right away. He stared at the empty shot glasses, and turned the last full one in his long fingers. “Nothing.” he answered softly.

“You're fucking right we didn't do anything wrong.” Maggie didn't want to make a scene, but dammit, this was something she had been wanting to say for a long time. To someone other than Jim, who just liked to pretend that none of this had happened. That he had always been a field weather reporter in the land of Twitter-journalism and holograms.

Neal pressed his lips together for a moment before he spoke. “Somehow, the most important thing wasn't the news. Because we were good, but it didn't save us. And that's how you know it wasn't our fault.”

“I just... I just want to do the news again.” Maggie laid her head down on the table for a moment. “I want to talk about what's happening. Not what someone wants everyone to know is happening. Or wishes was happening. We, as a society, are fucked into the next century if we aren't informed. And we're not. That's what Charlie, and Mac, and Will wanted. Pruitt and fuckers like Pruitt are winning. Information is a commodity and-” She sniffed and swallowed, feeling angry tears burning her eyes. “Sorry.” she said, getting a grip on herself.

“Don't be.” Neal reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“I just...” she sighed, despairing. “I just want to do the news. Isn't that all we ever wanted?”

Neal blinked twice and looked up at Maggie. Her cherubic face was blotchy with alcohol and frustration. And he smiled. A real smile, that just barely bent his lips.

“What?” Maggie asked thickly.

“Why can't we?” Neal asked.

“Come again?”

“Why can't we?”

“Why can't we what?”

“Do the news?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why can't we do the news?”

“Because we aren't producers anymore?”

“Says who?”

“Says Pruitt, apparently.” she answered bitterly.

“Bullshit.” Neal said, scooting forward in the booth, smile growing every instant. “What do we need to do the news?”

“A news network?”

“No, fuck that. What do we need to do the news? To talk about issues. To investigate.”

Maggie blinked slowly, her brain foggy with alcohol. “We need reporters.”

“I think we know a few that could use a good time. What else?”

“People to vet stories... a red team?” 

“See above. Next?”

“Cameras and computers.” 

“EBay if we don't already have what we need. What else?”

“An outlet.”

“We only have the entire fucking internet. Whatever will we do?”

“Neal, are you fucking insane? We can't just... start a news company just because we want to. And isn't this exactly what we were fighting with Pruitt? 'Citizen Journalism' or whatever the fuck they call it?”

“Again. Bullshit. We aren't “citizen journalists.” We're journalists. The real deal with degrees and resumes and student loans to prove it. So again... why can't we do the news?”

“B... be... because-” Maggie blustered for a moment and then stopped. “Because... it's not that simple.”

“It isn't? You haven't named anything that we can't potentially get our hands on in the time it takes to make a phone call.”

Maggie stared at him, squinting ever just so. “You're serious.”

“Like a hemophiliac in a razor blade factory.”

“You really think we can do this?”

“What is your compelling reason that we can't?”

“News websites are all over the internet... click-bait is like digital herpes.”

“Right... but we're actually good at what we do. And we care about content. If that really is all we have to worry about, it stands to reason that we'll be successful. We may not make a penny, but isn't penny counting what got us in this mess with Pruitt to begin with?”

Maggie thought for a moment.

“Come on, Mags,” Neal picked up his last shot. “We're already miserable now. I teach people who make seven and eight figures how to use their email. What's the worst that could happen?”

“Now that you've asked that question, I really don't know.” Maggie said wryly, picking up her own drink. “But... lets find out.”

“To the news?”

“To the news. Cheers.”


	2. October 21st, 2013, 1pm

October 21st, 2013, 1pm

 

There was only one thing that Sloan liked about working at Hooper Financial.

Her office was fucking magnificent. 

It was on the north side of the building, overlooking Central Park. It had all dark wood interior, with cream carpet so plush, she had to be careful when wearing her most man-slaying heels. It was big enough inside she could play racquet ball if she pushed the desk against the wall. It was the first thing to give her joy about joining their Board of Directors. 

But she never brought in any furniture. The large walls and bookshelves seemed to yawn with boredom at the lack of personal effects. Her desk, which came with the office, was a work of art, carved from a single piece of some wood from Madagascar she couldn't pronounce. It was vacant of anything more than her Bloomberg terminal, her laptop, a picture of her and Don, and her ACN coffee mug. The president of Hooper Financial even sent an interior designer to help her “get settled” but she had declined. She didn't even change the paint on the walls. Decorating this place felt like bringing a toothbrush to a one night stand.

Still, the view was breathtaking. She could even see the hawks that called the park home in their nest on the adjacent building. She could always go enjoy it, when working for these assholes made her despair of ever doing anything meaningful in her life ever again.

A sharp knock came on the door a little after lunch.

“Come in.” Sloan called, pivoting in her chair.

Her mousy secretary, Jamie, poked her head in. “Ms. Sabbith? There's someone here to see you.”

Sloan frowned. “I didn't think I had any appointments today.”

“You don't. I would have sent them away, or booked them later, and they don't look like anyone affiliated with... but they said-”

“Cut to the chase, Jamie.” Sloan said, patience with her deferential rambling already waning.

“It's just that they said you would see them if I told you who they were.”

“And who are they?”

“Um.” She looked down at her memo-pad. “A Margaret Jordan and Neal Sampat... isn't he in IT?”

Jamie barely got the question out before Sloan cut her off. “Send them in.”

“Are you sure? If you're busy I-”

“Jesus, Jamie. Send them in.”

Jamie disappeared and Sloan heard her directing Maggie and Neal into her office. There were smiles and hugs all around after Sloan shut the door behind them. No words... just a boisterous glee at seeing each other again. 

“So what brings you two here?” Sloan asked.

“Well, I ran into Neal at a bar a couple of nights back. He mentioned he was working here with you, and... we got to talking and...” Maggie floundered for a moment before Sloan jumped in.

“Lets sit.” She directed them to the chairs facing her desk.

“Swanky office.” Maggie commented, sinking into the thick velvet cushion.

“Thanks. The view makes up for all the bullshit.” Sloan rolled her eyes. “So... what's up?”

“We were curious if you'd like to do the news again.” Neal said simply, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“I'm... not sure what you're asking.” Sloan answered, sliding her gaze back and forth between Neal and Maggie.

“You miss working at ACN as much as we do, yeah?” 

“If you miss it every waking hour that you're having to do a job you care nothing about and find borderline immoral, yes.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Neal huffed.

“Hey, all you do is tech support.” Sloan countered, dryly.

“Yeah, but if this actually was the Mafia, I'm pretty sure the legal term for what I do would be “complicit.””

“Point taken.” she conceded.

“So we're wondering if you want to do the news again.” Maggie asked.

“You mean hypothetically? Sure. Fuck yeah. But I don't see how that's going to happen. No one's hiring people to talk about the economy. I tried, but it's not sexy anymore. Even if I'm doing the talking in a Victoria's Secret Angel costume.”

“We don't need it to be sexy. We need someone who knows what the fuck they're talking about.” Maggie said, sitting forward a little.

Sloan's brow knit in confusion. “We? Who's 'we?'”

“Look,” Neal broke in. “Maggie and I got to talking the other night. We think we might be able to... sort of get back to doing what we were doing at ACN. Not... y'know at a world wide news agency or anything. But still... doing what we were doing. Talking about things that matter. Finding and telling the truth. But...”

“But you need money.” Sloan interjected flatly. 

“What?” Neal blurted. “No, listen to me. We need an economist to talk about... y'know... the economy.”

Sloan blinked twice. “You want me to write about the economy? You don't need me for financial connections. You want me to write?”

“And maybe give interviews or produce segments. We're just talking print right now, but video is the next step and-”

“I'm in. What do you need and when do you need it.” It was a statement not a question. A pen was already in her hand and she was writing furiously.

“Well... we haven't thought that far. What do you want to talk about?” Maggie barely got the question out before she was cut off.

“Congress's utter childishness got the government shut down for the better part of this month, and they're already talking about doing it again next year. It's going to ruin our country's credit standing with the rest of the world... again. I want to talk about that and why continually doing this over and over is bad for the American people in the long run.”

“Go for it.”

“Awesome.” Sloan's face brightened. “I'm in. I'm so in. You can't imagine how in I am. I just...” She trailed off as she scribbled, a stupid happy grin splitting her beautiful face.

“We were wondering about Don.” Maggie chirped. “We wonder if...” she stopped, watching the shadows reconvene in Sloan's expression. “Is everything alright? You guys haven't-”

“Oh... no nothing like that.” Sloan had stopped writing. “His... his dad died. A little less than a month ago. And it's been really hard on him.”

“Oh no...” Maggie breathed. “I saw on Facebook he was in the hospital but... that's awful.”

“Yeah, between that and ACN melting out from under him, he just hasn't rebounded.” Sloan said. “But... maybe you should talk to him. His cell is the same. It would be worth a try... to him and to you, I think.”

“Okay.” Maggie said with a decisive nod.

“So you're in?” Neal asked, and Sloan nodded furtively.

“I'll have the debt ceiling story to you as soon as you want it.”

“No rush. I'll take a bit to get the website up and kicking, so just stay on top of it.”

“Will do.” Sloan said. “And you'll call Don?” She added hopefully.

Maggie nodded again. “Yeah, we'll get in touch with him when we head out from here.”

“Awesome.” Sloan sucked in an excited breath and stood. “It's so good to see you! And it will be good to do some actual work for a change.”

“We're glad you're in.” Neal said, as she showed them out “We need that brain of yours.”

“‘Course. Bye guys. I'll be in touch.”

“Bye, Sloan.”

Sloan closed the door behind her friends and proceeded to do a silent victory dance until one of her heels snagged in the plush carpet and sent her toppling to the floor. She lay there, in an undignified heap, and laughed the laugh of the truly relieved. 

***

When she and Neil hit the lobby of Hooper Financial, Maggie was already dialing up Don. Her call went through to voice mail after two rings. She scrunched up her lips pensively and looked at Neil before she left a perky message that would probably make Don think something was wrong.

“No luck?” Neil asked.

“He put me through to voice mail.” she huffed. “Maybe you should try? I mean... he and I are on good enough terms, but... y'know. Your ex girlfriend calling is your ex girlfriend calling.”

Neil nodded, and dialed Don on his own phone. He got the same result, but didn't bother leaving a message.

“Damn.” Maggie sighed and pulled out her phone again. “Well... I'll text Sloan and let her know we tried. Maybe she can drag him out of seclusion.” 

“Alright. Well, I've got to get back to work. Text me when you find out something.” Neil said, backing towards the elevators. “Oh and hey. I've been meaning to ask. Have you told Jim?”

“Nope.” Maggie replied brightly, giving her mischievous smile that always wrinkled her nose. “He's still out of town.”

Neil just laughed and shook his head. “See you later.”

“Bye, Neil!”

As Maggie exited the Hooper Financial building, her phone chimed. It was Sloan.

“Come to the apartment and talk to Don in person tonight. 8pm? I think that's the only way you'll ferret him out. And I really want you to.”

Maggie pressed her lips together, and forwarded the text to Neil before texting Sloan back for the address.


	3. October 21st 2013, 8pm

October 21st 2013, 8pm

 

Maggie didn't realize until she stood outside of Sloan's apartment, that Don had moved in with Sloan at some point after they got together. And who could blame him. This neighborhood was fantastic. But for some strange reason, that evening Maggie had been fully expecting to have to walk up and knock on the door she had once briefly held the key to. And furthermore, she realized that prospect was the only thing making her nervous about this meeting.

She sighed as the anxiety in her gut unraveled. Don giving her the key to his apartment... all in candlelight and roses and reassuring smiles that she wasn't entirely sure were meant just to reassure her... It felt a hazy lifetime away.

The doorman let Maggie and Neal into the chandelier-lit lobby, which was all golden light on polished wood and mirrors. They took the elevator to Sloan's floor, and her floor it was as it turned out. Her penthouse was an entire level of the building.

Neal knocked on the heavy brass inlaid door. A second later Sloan opened it with a nervous smile.

“Hey guys, come on in.”

He and Maggie paused for a minute once they were inside, turning in circles in the wide open space of the dimly lit living room and adjoining kitchen. Vaulted ceilings. Stark but beautiful decor. Half the walls were floor to ceiling windows which meant one whole side of the living room was nothing but a sea of twinkly lights. It was even nicer than Will's place. 

“Wow, Sloan.” Neal breathed as he slid off his jacket. “Jesus, not to be rude, but what are they paying you up there?”

“More than the GDP of the country of Tuvalu.”

“I believe it.” Maggie muttered.

“Who was that, ba- Oh.” Don's voice stopped short, the last word falling like a drop of rainwater. They all turned to find him standing in the doorway from the bedroom, fully dressed but towel in hand from the shower.

“Hi.” he said shortly, more startled than anything.

“Hey, Don.” Maggie said softly. She tried to smile at him, but the sight of him made her heart sink like a lead weight. He looked terrible. His face was haggard with a five o'clock shadow that started about 36 hours ago, and his damp hair didn't help the look. And he looked thin... not sickly but sort of hollowed out. Like the frown he now wore had sunk onto his bones with overuse. Not unlike how Maggie herself had felt until her conversation with Neal last Friday. She wondered if she looked that way and Jim never told her. Or if Jim looked that way and she hadn't really noticed because it had been such a gradual slide and she barely saw him.

“Hey, Maggie.” He returned with an equally weak smile. “I saw your call... I was...” He licked his lips and looked away.

“Don't worry about it.” She said quickly, forcing herself to smile bigger. His poker face had always been shit. “Neal and I... we went to see Sloan today about an idea, and we wanted to get you in on it. If... if you wanted. If you're not busy.”

“I haven't been busy for four months, save the week where I planned my father's funeral.” His weak smile never wavered. “Would you guys like a drink?”

“Sure!” Neal and Maggie piped up together.

Four beers appeared from the fridge and Sloan shepherded their friends to the sofas that faced the enormous window.

“So, what's this idea?” Don asked after taking a healthy gulp of his beer.

“Well,” Maggie hesitated, glancing at Sloan who smiled but said nothing. “We... Neal and I were talking a couple of nights back. And we... we want to start doing news again.”

“Join the club.” Don quipped. “I made t-shirts. They say 'Lucas Pruitt is a pretentious puppy-killing prick' and 'CNN stands for Crappy News Network.' No offense to Jim.”

“I strongly doubt he would disagree with you.” Maggie replied with a snort.

“No but...” Neal licked his lips. “We think we can. Do the news, I mean. Like... ourselves.”

It was Don's turn to snort. “You and what army?”

“Do we need an army?” Maggie replied.

“There was a staff of 25-plus people at ACN just for one show.” Don retorted.

“How many of those people were for managing the television and advertising side of things? We're just starting with print on the internet. What army do we need?”

“Do you have reporters?”

“Neal can do tech stuff-” Maggie started ticking on her fingers

“All this business with the NSA and Homeland Security spying is about to go bananas. I can feel it and I can write about it.” Neal interjected, proudly before taking a swig of his beer.

“Sloan's going to be our economics reporter.” she went on. Don's eyes slid to Sloan who shrugged innocently and stayed silent. “And I've already done some work in field reporting so I can do that if someone needs to travel for a story!” 

Don blinked slowly, and scoffed. “You're all insane. Who the fuck is your EP then? Or whatever they call them for internet sites. If they even have them. Even if you're not doing film you need someone to organize and edit... Wait. Shit. Tell me you haven't drug Mac into this. She's about to have a baby for fuck-... wait.” Don noticed his friends and his girlfriend were smiling at him intently. “You're not serious.”

“Well, who better?” Neal chimed in.

“What the fuck? Why me?”

“Because you're as miserable as the rest of us about not working at ACN. Probably more so.” Sloan offered.

“You're right about that.” Don replied before taking a drink.

“And you're good at your job.” Neal added.

“Come on, Don.” Maggie pleaded. “Come with us on this. We'll probably never make a dime, but we'll still... we'll still be doing what we're good at. What we're supposed to be doing.”

Don sighed and ran a hand through his still wet hair. “Let me think about it.” he said after a long silence. “I've still got some traveling to do to take care of my dad's stuff. Cleaning out his house and what not. But... Just... just let me think about it.”

“Alright.” Maggie relented. She finished off her beer and stood, Neal following suit. “It's good to see you, Don.” He looked up at her, a skeptical smile pulling at his mouth, which earned him a gentle kick to the ankle. “Really.”

“It's good to see you too, Maggie.” He replied, his smirk giving way to that rare genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Hey, what's Jim doing in all this? Or is he too busy playing weather man over at CNN?”

“I haven't gotten to talk to him, because he's been out of town. We'll see what he wants to do. Maybe he can cover politics? Who knows.”

“But you haven't told him yet?”

“Nope.” She gave Don the same smile she gave Neal when he asked that question earlier in the day.

“Alright. You guys have a good night.”

There were handshakes and hugs all around, and then Maggie and Neal were back in the elevator. As they silently zipped towards the ground level, Neal awkwardly cleared his throat.

“So... how are you going to tell Jim at this point?”

“I have no idea.” Maggie answered, honestly.


	4. October 26th, 2013

October 26th, 2013

Neal, Maggie, Sloan, and Don agreed to meet at Maggie's apartment for a late lunch on Saturday so they could get started on their new crusade. Maggie and Jim had never bothered buying furniture for their their tiny apartment, so after fetching food from the deli down the street, everyone just spread out on the hardwood floor in the living room. Sandwich wrappers and laptops open, along with a couple of bottles of wine, and they were all set to spend the afternoon discussing and researching potential stories, as well as talking a little deeper about their vision for this new project.

That was when the front door opened.

“Hey sweetheart, I'm h- what the fuck?” Jim stopped halfway through the doorway, and stared at his girlfriend and his former coworkers, all in some form of sweats or pajamas and sitting on his living room floor.

Maggie scrambled to her feet and rushed to give him a kiss and more importantly, place herself between him and her compatriots. “Hi Jim! You're home early.” No one, including Jim, failed to notice that her voice jumped in pitch by a whole register. Don actually snorted with laughter.

“Yeah...” Jim dragged the word out as he closed the door behind him. “I... um... wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh.” She said. There was an awkward pause. “Surprise!” She said spreading her arms and laughing to cover her obvious panic.

“Uh huh...” Jim set his suitcase down by the door. “So... what's going on? Why is half the former ACN staff in our apartment? Not… that it’s not good to see all of you.”

They all waved with varying forms of humor and paranoia.

“Oh.” Maggie turned and looked at her friends for help. They all just smirked at her, leaving her to fend for herself. “I... we... it-we-I-mean... yeah... can we go in the bedroom and talk while you... unpack or something and I'll tell you what's going on.”

“What's going on?” Jim asked, warily, clearly growing more irritated by the second. He set down his suitcase and folded his arms, clearly immovable without an explanation.

“Well... I was... I was going to tell you when you got back. See there wasn't really a ch-”

“Don't start. We talked every night before you went to bed.” Jim cut her off.

“But... see it's complicated.”

“Try me.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Neal and I decided to start a news website. Don and Sloan are helping.” She said flatly. She smiled her cheesiest smile, hoping to avoid the avalanche that was coming. It didn't work.

“Oh. Is that all? What the fuck do you mean, 'you and Neal have started a news website?'” Jim railed.

“I... see this is why I didn't want to tell you over the phone.” Maggie flopped to the floor by her laptop.

“What, so I could tell you it was a dumb idea in person?” 

“Way ahead of you, pal.” Don chimed in, winking at him.

“Ditto.” Sloan followed.

“Way to be there guys.” Maggie grumbled.

“I... I didn't think it was a dumb idea.” Neal offered weakly.

“Thanks, but in my defense, it was actually your idea.” Maggie replied.

“Hence why it's not dumb.” Neal countered with his toothiest grin. Maggie threw a napkin at him in response.

“Wait... you guys are actually serious about this.” Jim said, realization dawning on his face as he looked around the room again. “Aren't you?”

They all nodded. Even Don, who had spent all morning assaulting the whole idea for the second time.

“You're shitting me. You're all fucking nuts.” Jim exclaimed, hands in his hair.

“We know,” they all replied in unison.

“Do you want to help?” Maggie asked meekly after a pause.

Jim looked down at her, his expression a mix of pity and humor. “What are you doing exactly?”

“Print journalism on the internet for now. We want to eventually do film segments or something but... y'know. One thing at a time.” Maggie answered, her voice a little stronger.

“What's your first story?”

“Debt ceiling.” Sloan answered, waving her hand to indicate that it was her charge.

“And the NSA wiretapping the entire universe.” Neal added.

“No Bigfoot? Jim asked with a smirk.

“Do you want a story abo-”

“No.” Everyone chorused.

Jim actually laughed. It was the first time in weeks Maggie had seen a real smile out of him. That boyish Jimmy-smile that said he had hope and that they could conquer the world. That smile that had made her fall head-first in love with him. “Alright.” he sighed, raking a hand through his mussed hair. “What can I do to help?”

“Can you check our sources for now?” Don asked. “And then, maybe if you're out on patrol for CNN and you hear about a story that's too small for them, and not time sensitive, you can pass it along.”

“Not time sensitive?”

“It's not about fast. We can't be about fast right now because we don't have the resources.” Maggie said. “Right now it's about accurate and detailed. Things other outlets don't have time for because they're doing fast. Focus on big pictures and longer time tables. This is what we wanted to do anyway, but never had the right platform to achieve. Right?”

“Okay... okay.” Jim said, still smiling. He sat down between Neal and Sloan and unzipped his laptop case. “Sloan... show me what you've got.”


	5. November 6th, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who's been reading along and leaving comments and kudos!
> 
> Most of my news facts are coming from a variety of sources including Wikipedia, CNN, and Independent News out of the UK. I apologize if there are any errors.

November 6th, 2013

It was late into the afternoon and Maggie had spent the day in bed typing a piece for Gawker about preparations for King Mohammed IV of Morocco’s state visit at the White House. What was being served. Where they were going. Blah blah blah. She didn’t even dignify the piece with a shower, much less getting properly dressed. She just couldn’t bring herself to it. Even if the readers never knew, it felt like her own little personal protest of how insipid this article was. 

She heard the front door open, followed by the bedroom door. Jim was home.

“Maggie, have you been watching the weather?” He said, crisply, as if the conversation had started five minutes before he arrived. He tossed his jacket on the bed and began loosening his tie.

“Hi to you, too.” She said as she batted back the cheap metal blinds covering their bedroom window. “No. I live in Manhattan.” she answered dryly. “I haven’t seen the sun since 2009.”

“What? No… I mean like the global weather.”

“Again, no. I have only ever been to one continent other than this one, and there the weather was always hot and sunny with a chance of bullets. What’s up? What have you heard?” She swung her legs off the bed and stood.

“I- are you working in your underwear?”

“Focus, you oversexed dweeb.”

Jim scrunched his eyes shut. “But you’re working.”

“Perks of the job. I can write naked if I want to. The downside is that I’m writing about who chooses the tablecloth fabric for state dinners. What are you freaking out about with the weather?”

“There’s a typhoon growing off the coast of the Philippines. It’s just been named ‘Haiyan’ by NOAA and the local Philippine equivalent is well on their way to naming it as well.”

Maggie sat down on the edge of the bed. “How bad?”

“Potentially? Katrina-bad. I… I don’t really know all the weathery jargon or how to draw any comparisons using that,” Jim wiggled his fingers. “But just from looking at the… the people side of the equation… this could be a major humanitarian crisis.” He ran a hand through his hair, throwing it into even more disarray. 

“Go on.” she implored.

“The people of the Philippines are largely low income outside of the cities. Farmers… laborers... There’s not a lot of support infrastructure. And the country is very flat and featureless in terms of topography in a lot of places. Particularly populated places. Flooding and its accompanying hazards like mudslides will be the major problem, even if the wind damage were... The storm would be bad enough as is, but…” Jim started stuttering.

“You said they just named it though… any chance…” She trailed off.

“Yeah, there’s a chance but… but between you and me, the NOAA guys I’ve talked to are pretty spooked. They’re talking ‘perfect storm’ kinds of conditions… like Hurricane Sandy.”

“So, do you think we can have a story out of this? What’s the angle? Larger global warming story? Aid deficits for natural disaster relief?”

“I don’t know. I mean, currently the story is wind and rain, and doom and gloom, just like always. It's hard to know exactly what's going to come out of it.”

“So, I’ll just wait and watch the news on this one with everyone else?”

“Yeah… I guess.” Jim said with a defeated sigh. “They’re sending me as soon as the military aid flights start. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. I just figured you could use some warning. Maybe do some advance research?”

Maggie nodded and stared out through the blinds. “I wish I could go with you.” 

“Me too.”

“You’d better get packed.”

“I have to go shopping actually. I don’t really have any good field reporting clothing for covering anything other than stump speeches. Wanna come?”

Maggie stared forlornly at her article. She’d stopped in the middle of a sentence about napkin patterns. “Let me put on some pants and… and send an email to Don.”

“Okay. I’m going to change. I might have to go back to the office tonight if stuff with Haiyan gets worse.”

“Which it's going to.” Maggie called through the bathroom door. She was already in her email and typing away. 

“Which it's going to.” Jim echoed, sounding resigned. 

 

***

That evening, Maggie got a phone call from Don.

“Hey, what’s up?” she greeted.

“No chance you can piggy back to the Philippines with Jim?” Don replied curtly, without salutation.

Maggie had to stifle a giggle at his directness. He had become his old straight-shooting self overnight it had seemed. She was sure he would be back to irritating the piss out of her within a few weeks, but for now, it made her happy.

“I didn’t ask, but he didn’t offer. I don’t want to interfere with his business at CNN.”

“Okay… are you where you’ve got internet?”

“Yeah, I’m home.”

“Okay, get on Google. You, Neal and I are going to do a conference call.”

“Okay.” Maggie said frowning. He was awfully energetic today.

Maggie opened her laptop and no sooner had she pulled up Google, than Don was calling her on voice chat. She clicked the alert, and his face popped up on her screen alongside Neal's.

“Hi guys!” she greeted cheerily. “What’s up?”

“Neal thinks he can get you to the Philippines.” Don said with no more fanfare than he would use to order at a Starbucks.

“What?” Maggie stammered.

“I can get you to the Philippines.” Neal said, confidently.

“How?”

“Hooper Financial always makes a big show of sending aid whenever there’s a natural disaster. They usually funnel a ton of cash to a local chapter of the Red Cross or something, and send them on their merry way. But! They hire a writer to document the aid effort for… 'internal use'.” He did air-quotes to the web cam. “The board tasked Sloan with hiring the writer since she knows people in the industry. She wants you to mail her your resume and a writing sample. Talk up your time in Uganda particularly.”

“And Hooper Financial will pay for me to go to the Philippines to document their aid project?”

“Yep.”

“How much will they need me to write?” 

“I don’t know. Sloan will contact you with the specifics once you send her your resume.” Neal answered.

“So… Don are you telling me that I’m going to Philippines under the guise of working for Hooper, when in reality I’m going to write an article for us?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Okay then. I’ll update my resume and get it to Sloan within the hour.”

“Awesome.” Don replied. “Let us know when you hear back, and if you get any updates out of Jim.”

“Will do.”

They all disconnected. Maggie nearly screamed in glee.


	6. November 9th 2013, 6pm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I failed to copy over the entirety of Maggie's time in the Philippines, so if there seemed to be a time warp, that's why. I updated this chapter with the missing material. Sorry! Thanks for reading.

November 9th 2013, 6pm

Jim had not been over reacting about Typhoon Haiyan. No one had. The storm, with its perfectly circular eye and wind-speeds over 140 miles per hour, had slammed into the Philippines. Initial estimates of loss of life and property were grim, and expected to worsen as flooding set in.

Jim left a day before Haiyan made landfall and Maggie watched it all from her apartment in Manhattan. Normally, this would have made her stir-crazy as all hell. She would have barely been able to watch the news coverage, and then when she went to escape it (most likely at a bar), she would feel guilty for turning her back.

But instead, she had transformed her living room into a miniature production office, and she and Neal were hard at work. The TV screen was split between CNN and MSNBC. Maggie's computer was also running the BBC and NPR news breaks when they would update, while she madly researched the local customs, common vocations, language basics, and governing bodies of the Philippines. Meanwhile, Neal was covering all of social media. Twitter, blogs... the whole lot, and he would occasionally send links to Maggie through GoogleChat. 

Maggie decided then and there, that if she ever got another gig working in a news room, she would make sure her contract said that she could come to work in her pajamas.

She eyed her suitcase from where she sat cross legged on the floor. It was already packed. It had been packed for days, actually. And its contents were not that much different from her last overseas venture. Her eyes glazed for a moment at that thought. What madness might she run afoul of this time? It seemed inevitable.

“Hey Maggie, check this out.” Neal's voice shook her free of the pull of that particular rabbit hole. “An old college friend of mine who works at NOAA in DC sent me a link to their internal high resolution radar. He gave me a guest media account that will last 48 hours.”

Maggie leaned over his shoulder and frowned as the most current image of Typhoon Haiyan loaded. It was still a textbook image of a tropical storm. Perfect circle in the center, with bands of color carrying devastating winds pinwheeling out. She had no idea where Jim was on that map. “Can you get screen caps?”

“Way ahead of you. I've got it set up to take a cap every ten minutes. Good enough?”

“Good enough.” Maggie said with a smile, as she returned to her own laptop.

 

November 13th 2013, 5am

Maggie was barely in Sloan's office before she was being handed envelopes of papers. “Here is a copy of your contract, your vaccinations, your itinerary, an outline of what we'll require in your finished product, an example from our last publication so you can see how your writing will be used, and here's your plane tickets.” Maggie nearly dropped all the papers twice. “Your first flight will be from LaGuardia to LAX. Then, you'll fly LAX to the Honolulu International Airport. You will be met by members of the US military and taken by military flight to the Navy base in San Antonio.”

“Okay.” Maggie said, numbly as she shuffled through the papers, not really looking at any of them. She hadn't had enough coffee for this. She wasn't sure there was enough coffee in the universe for this.

“Can I see your passport? We need to make a copy in case it gets lost or stolen. That way we can get you back.” Sloan smiled. Maggie did a horrible job of faking one in return as she fumbled for her purse, but Sloan didn't notice. She was halfway out the door, handing off the things to be copied to her secretary when another woman appeared.

“Ah! Anya, good morning.” Sloan said, shaking the woman's hand and drawing her into the office. “This is Maggie. She's our writer-tag-along this time.”

Anya didn't look much older than Maggie, especially with her wavy auburn hair slicked up in a ponytail and no makeup on. Both of them were dressed in loose travel clothes. Next to Sloan, in her jet black business finery they both looked like wide-eyed, underfed interns. 

Anya gave Maggie a shy smile. “Hi.” she said softly.

“So, I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Not like you won't have sixteen or so hours to do that... but I need to go get the last of Maggie's paperwork and grab your stuff as well.” And with that, Sloan made her exit, only tripping once over her heels in the carpet.

When the door had clicked behind them, Anya turned to Maggie with a nervous smile. “Have you ever flown overseas before?”

“Um... not over this sea, no.” She replied. “But I've been to Uganda.”

“Oh wow! I've never been to Africa. One of these days I'm going to though!” Anya gushed. “Were you doing aid work?”

“Um... I was there with ACN. I used to be an associate producer there and I went to write a story. As part of the deal to get to travel, we did some PR stuff for aid work done by the US military.” Maggie was trying to make it sound as uninteresting as possible and she could see by the look on Anya's face that she was failing miserably.

“What sort of aid work were they doing?”

“Helping at an orphanage.”

“Oh, I bet that was so much fun.”

“It was, until the militia came and shot at us.” The color drained from Anya's face. Maggie immediately felt bad. “I'm sorry,” she said. “It's just... it was really traumatic. One of the children didn't make it.”

“Oh no...” Anya's eyes clouded over for a second, and then she refocused on Maggie's face, her brow puckered. ”But Maggie, while we might not get shot at, I... we are possibly... No, probably going to see... see some pretty horrific things.” She suddenly sounded like a mother talking to her five year old. “They're saying... they're saying some pretty horri-”

“I know. My boyfriend is already there with CNN. He's been sending me emails when he can.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. From what he's saying, I can pretty much guarantee you, we are going to Tacloban City which is where the death toll and displacement are currently highest. They might even divert us and send us directly there instead of routing us through San Antonio.”

“Is that where he is?”

“No, he's in Manila covering the government response.”

“What's he telling you about Tacloban City?” Anya asked. Her meekness from a moment ago vanished in her interest to get a jump on the situation.

“The lower parts of the city are pretty much washed away. No electricity. No shelter for a lot of people. The death toll has cleared 1,800 with about twice that missing. Looting is rampant because there's no way in or out because the roads blocked with trees and water. There's also a prison that's damaged in the area and he's said there might be some escaped prisoners, but I don't have anyway to confirm it. The airport was damaged, but they're getting some of the runways in useable condition so aid can be flown in more easily. Right now it's just the military evacuating injured people. The local police are en route as of a few hours ago to deal with the looting and violence.”

“Wow, sounds like you're really on top of things.” Anya said, with genuine surprise.

“Perks of the trade.”

“Journalism, you mean?”

“And sleeping with a guy at CNN.” Maggie said, smiling genuinely if a little wearily. It managed to make Anya laugh.

“Well, I'm glad you're coming along. Do you think you'll be able to keep in contact with... with your boyfriend while we're there?”

“Jim. And I'm hoping so... Cell service is practically non-existent over there right now, but if I can get a stable internet connection of some sort, we can use Skype or something similar. And of course there's email.”

“We keep a stable, but usually weak internet connection at the main camp so... that's... great. Wow. You're nothing like the last PR person Hooper sent with us. God, she was like dragging around an anchor. Always asking stupid questions about how the money is being used and what not while I'm trying to get people fed.”

“All that can wait until we get back if we can't talk about it while we fly.” Maggie replied briskly. “I'll just take notes on any questions I have. So... Anya, before Sloan gets back, I need to tell you something. I'm actually pulling double duty in going to the Philippines with you.”

“Oh?”

“I'm not a PR writer. I'm a freelance journalist. I'm going to report on the typhoon, not just write about Hooper Financial's token charity donation.”

“Well, it's hardly token... I mean they're funneling mil-”

“I meant token for them.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “So you're going to write about what you see there? Are you going to write about me?”

“Do something worth writing about, and I probably will.” Maggie grinned as Sloan came barreling in with more disheveled sheaves of paper in hand.

***

Maggie had been spot on in her predictions, thanks to Jim's inside information. At Honolulu International, their escort of servicemen informed them that they would in fact not be going to San Antonio, but would be landing directly in Tacloban. They also told Anya, that the rest of the Red Cross staff was already waiting at the military terminal. 

The flight in the C130 was not uncomfortable, but it was a bit like riding in a heavy older model car with bad shocks. The least bit of turbulence, of which there was no shortage, rattled every rivet and tooth filling aboard. During the flight, Maggie took some time with Anya to chart exactly what supplies they were bringing and she got a run down of their basic procedure.

“Have you heard anything more from Jim?” Anya asked, as she took the opportunity of a lull in the bone-jarring turbulence to stretch.

“I got an email from him when we got off the plane in Honolulu. Because of the time difference, he was probably just paraphrasing the morning report. I imagine he's out working right now. What time locally are we due to land?”

“Late afternoon... like 4pm I think?”

Master Sergeant Cross, who had met them at the airport, took a seat next to Maggie and Anya. He was a tall African American man with a buzz cut so close, Maggie was pretty sure that in a pinch, they could bounce a satellite signal off of his head. “Afternoon, ladies. I wanted to give you an update about the situation on the ground in Tacloban.”

Both of them perked up. “We were just talking about that. Her boyfriend works for CNN so he's been telling us some of what's happening on the ground.”

“The situation in Tacloban is very dire.” 

“What's the death toll currently?” Maggie asked, looking at her watch and scribbling on a notepad.

“Over 2000 and still climbing.” Cross answered. Anya made a pitying sound. “But here's what you need to know. Tacloban has been without power or running water for the better part of the week. The lower lying areas, which housed most of the poor, have been completely flattened. From some of the aerials I've seen, it looks like the hand of God just wiped across the coastal areas of the city.”

Anya visibly swallowed. Maggie nodded and took notes. She would need to get Google images of this later.

“We've evacuated as many injured as we've been able to manage now that the runways are clear, and more are being brought to us. But the people are desperate for food, shelter... About two hours ago, they knocked over several fences and mobbed the aid stations there. We are diverting to Ormoc, until the local authorities and the military can get the situation stabilized.”

Maggie's eyebrows shot up. “Wow.”

“That's... drastic.” Anya said blinking.

“I'm sorry for the short notice, but rest assured that the people of Ormoc need these supplies just as much as in Tacloban. More in fact. We've just got to get order restored in Tacloban, before we send any more civilians in.”

Both of them nodded. Maggie felt slightly and surprisingly disappointed. Part of her had been wanting to go somewhere dangerous... to stare down injury and death and all the things that still harried her sleep after Uganda. Plus, news about riots and mass hysteria. God, it would make for some good news. She sighed and shrugged it off. Maybe there would be something substantive to talk about in Ormoc.

“Master Sergeant?” Maggie asked. “Could I please send an email to Jim just to let him know my change of... venue? I didn't know if you had rules against that while we were in the air.”

“Knock yourself out if you've got signal.” He responded before rising and moving to address the other aid workers.

Maggie pulled out her phone. She kept it short to make sure it was sent. 

Jim,  
I'm being rerouted by the US military from Tacloban to Ormoc due to the violence against aid workers. If you know anything about what's happening there, email me. I should have a stable connection.  
Love you.  
Maggie

November 14th 2013, 5pm local time in Ormoc, Philippines

Maggie peered out the windows of the Humvee as their aid caravan ambled through the streets of what used to be the city of Ormoc. 

She “knew” a lot of things about this sort of crisis situation. They'd covered things like this at ACN at least a dozen times while she had been there. Hurricanes like Katrina, Rita, and Ivan, the 2012 tornado outbreak in the South. Things happened in a predictable order. There was the initial shock as the body count starts rising like sand in an hourglass, and then local aid arrives. Local and national leaders speak, states of emergency are declared and the request is made for additional aid. National and foreign help arrives after that, usually with the military. Then order is more or less restored, and the climb out of chaos begins just as another crisis or distraction steals the A block. Maggie “knew” all of this, and she “knew” where she fell on that list.

But knowing did not prepare her for seeing Ormoc without a camera to filter it for her. She had never seen anything quite like this with her own waking eyes. It wasn't a city any more. It was a total ruin. Destroyed in a way that almost seemed Biblical. Like God was fudging on the whole “never destroy the world with water” promise.

Buildings had been flattened by wind or swept away by surging water that still stood in low-lying areas. Trees, if they were still standing, were stripped of all green and left to stand like limp pitiful scarecrows. People wandered the rubble as ghosts, some of them barefoot which made Maggie cringe. Their faces were destitute of any emotion besides numbness and despair. The still, humid air reeked of stagnant water, sewage, and under it all, the distinct smell of dead flesh. Maggie had never smelled it before, but somehow it was unmistakeable. They would be finding bodies for weeks, Maggie “knew,” but she tried not to think about it.

They headed to the hospital which was thankfully on higher ground. It didn't get washed away with the rest of the city, but it had taken heavy wind damage. They were told by their translator that the roof of one wing had collapsed, killing 18 patients and 3 nurses. Anya was quick to get her people moving once they arrived. Maggie clipped her cellphone to her lapel with the camera recording and uploading directly to her computer as they worked. She hoped to get some good footage both for Hooper and for herself. 

Anya split the team in two. One team helped to restock the supplies of the hospital, while the other set up a food and water station in the parking lot. They had clearly done this before as it all moved like clockwork. The local police and a contingent of US soldiers kept the peace as the supplies were distributed. For all their desperation, it seemed the citizens of Ormoc were far more cooperative than those in Tacloban.

Once again, Maggie couldn't help being disappointed. Not only was there not much of a story, but there wasn't anything else for her to do either. She felt like a waste of space. A true writer-tag-along.

9 pm found Maggie huddled in the back of a Humvee typing on her computer and editing some of the footage she had caught. The volunteers were still handing out food, but it was quiet and the people had been respectful and orderly. 

“Hungry?” Anya had wandered up with a bowl of soup and a weary smile.

“Oh... I don't want to take it from someone who needs it. I think I've got a granola bar in my carry on. I just haven't had a chance to-”

“Eat. There's a lull so we're all grabbing a bite. You can eat granola tomorrow when we go set up our second aid station down near the market. I doubt we'll have time to stop for lunch.”

Maggie took the bowl without needing to be encouraged again. She really was hungry. She hadn't eaten since that pitiful excuse for a turkey sandwich in the Honolulu Airport. But some of these people hadn't eaten in days...

“How are you holding up?” Anya asked, sensing Maggie's train of thought.

Maggie regarded her for a moment. Anya seemed older out here somehow. “I'm... It's different seeing it without a camera to edit and... and constrain it. Does that make sense?”

Anya nodded. “This is some of the worst I've ever seen, to be honest. I've heard some of the more seasoned volunteers and aid workers tell stories about the tsunami and it sounded a lot like this. But hearing stories is one thing...”

“Yeah. Seeing it is another.” Maggie nodded as she continued to eat. 

“Smelling it is another.” Anya said, wrinkling her nose.

“Do you think I might could interview some of the staff here at the hospital?”

“Possibly. I-”

Suddenly, there was a ruckus of shouting coming from the darkness across the parking lot. Maggie and Anya squinted and they could see a man sprinting towards them waving his arms and yelling in Filipino.

Anya vaulted off the back of the Humvee and started barking orders to her volunteers. “Get the translator, and a medic!”

Maggie blinked a few times. There were two more men following the man that was yelling. One was supporting the other who... Maggie had to blink a few times to make sense of what she was seeing.

He was missing both his legs. From above the knee it looked like. His legs looked like they just ended in ragged fabric. 

Maggie's brain shifted gears. She slammed her laptop closed, grabbed her cellphone and started filming. She clipped it to her shirt and narrated as she ran. Date. Time. Place. What was happening.

She ran towards the men not realizing until she got there that she was going to throw the injured man's other arm over her shoulder and help carry him inside. With her help, they were able to break into an awkward gallop. The injured man was filthy and barely conscious. It felt like carrying a sack of potatoes. 

“I'm Maggie.” She told the other man. He was babbling and she couldn't make out what he was saying. “Do you speak English?”

“A little.” he answered in a quaking, winded voice. “This is my older brother, Dani. I... I find him under the house, still... still breathing.”

They got Dani inside and the staff took him directly to surgery as he was still bleeding. Maggie found his brother out in the hallway crouched on the floor and shaking, covered in mud and his brother's blood. She sat down next to him and he looked up.

“Salamat... I thank you.” he said. “Will... will he-”

“They're doing everything.” She assured him. “What's your name?”

“Nimuel.” he answered. “I... I can't believe we found him...”

Suddenly, Maggie remembered that her camera was recording. “Nimuel, I'm a reporter. My phone has a camera that's recording. Would you like me to shut it off or can I keep it on?”

“It's fine.” he answered after a second.

“Thanks. I just didn't want to be dishonest.”

He nodded blankly.

“You found your brother under your house?”

“Yes... he was... must have been in the cellar.” Nimuel went on. “I was helping to board up the church... I... We found the bodies of my parents in their bedroom. They had...” his voice cracked and Maggie put her arm around his shoulders. “They had been crushed when the roof caved in. Dani was no where to be found. We were starting to think we would never find him. People are already starting to talk... saying how some people may never be found. But he was in the cellar... both legs crushed under a piece of timber.”

A long silence stretched between them as Nimuel sobbed quietly. 

The doctor emerged a moment later and Nimuel stood quickly, wiping his eyes. Maggie did a very undignified scramble in order to both get to her feet and cut the recording on her phone.

“You're his brother?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.” Nimuel replied quickly. “How is he... is he going-”

“We're getting him stabilized, but he's lost a lot of blood. You wouldn't happen to know what blood type he is, would you?”

Nimuel shook his head. 

“We'll have to get him typed and-”

“Wait.” Maggie said. “O negative people are universal donors, right?”

“Yes. But we're out of that blood type. We were out before the storm.”

“Can someone donate now?”

The doctor hesitated. “Are you volunteering?”

“If it saves Dani, be my guest.” Maggie replied rolling up her left sleeve.

*** 

It was well after midnight before Maggie got to the aid workers' tent. She dragged herself to the bathroom and was shocked by the state of her own face staring back at her. Stark white, devoid of makeup, and streaked with something dark. Most likely blood... she must have wiped her face after helping Dani onto the bed in the hospital. She looked down at herself... khakis ruined with yet more bloodstains on one leg. Bandaged and aching arm from donating blood, which probably accounted for her extreme pallor. And her phone still clipped to her shirt.

“Hey.” Anya's voice behind her made Maggie jump. “You okay?”

Maggie thought for a moment and then nodded. “I think so.”

“You look a little worse for the wear.”

“Blood loss.” she managed a weak smile.

“Here, I brought you some water.” Anya proffered a bottle, which Maggie took without arguing this time.

“Thanks.” Maggie said thickly, making to hand it back.

“Keep it.” Anya answered. “You should drink a good bit of it before bed.”

She nodded and they both stood there in a heavy silence.

“I didn't think there'd be a story here.” Maggie said, suddenly, surprising herself with her own confession.

“No?”

“When I heard we were being re-routed here from Tacloban. I thought it would be quiet here... just … nothing to write about.”

“Well... in a manner of perspective you were right. Dani probably wasn't the only man to lose limbs to this storm. And he and Nimuel weren't the only ones to lose their parents.”

“Yeah.” Maggie said, but a frown buckled her brow. She wasn't sure she agreed. “I guess it was a good thing you were here.”

“In their case, it was a good thing -you- were here.” Anya elbowed Maggie gently. “Get some sleep. We have a long day tomorrow. Maybe you'll find something to write about there.” She winked and disappeared around the partition.

Maggie brushed her teeth, washed her face, and combed her hair before dressing for bed. Before she curled up in bed, she pulled out her phone and checked her email. She saw a message from Jim that had been sent hours ago.

Hey Maggie,  
Bummer you're going to Ormoc. I hear it's just a ghost town... nothing but flattened buildings. It's sounding like all the action is in Tacloban. Especially as far as aid workers are concerned.  
Glad you're safe though. I'll email you in the morning. Hope to hear from you too.  
Love you.  
Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of my information about Typhoon Haiyan including chronology of events, death tolls, damage assessments ect. comes from Wikipedia, CNN, NPR, and BBC. Please let me know if there are any errors.


	7. November 22st, 2013

November 22st, 2013

Jim beat Maggie home by several days. Once the waters receded and the officials were done making speeches, he was back on a plane to the states. She, on the other hand, had stayed in Ormoc for nearly a week, both helping and documenting Anya and her team as they set up aid stations all around the city. It turned out they were the only aid the city would see for days. Once the situation in Tacloban calmed, aid flights had resumed their routes there.

Maggie had seen to all the writing for Hooper Financial on the flights and layovers on the way back to New York. It took her nearly a day and a half of actual travel time to make it, but by the time she did, everything was ready to be emailed to Sloan. That meant the moment she hit the door of her apartment, she could get started on the real reason she had flown halfway around the world. 

As soon as he heard Maggie was back in town, Don, in typical fashion, wanted to meet with the whole team immediately. Maggie begged off until the next day. She needed to get her footage, interviews, and whatnot organized, but more importantly, she needed a real shower. She hadn't had a bath that was more than hosing down with tepid water in six days. She had mud, sunscreen, sand, and God knew what else in places she wasn't sure it could be washed out of.

Eventually, they all agreed, through multiple reply-all emails, to meet at Sloan and Don's apartment, order takeout for dinner, and get the website up and running before they left for the evening. Apparently, while Maggie and Jim had been in the Philippines, Neal had been hard at work designing and coding their site.

“So,” Don began after food was ordered and they were all settled with drinks and laptops at the ready. “What are our first stories?”

“I'm ready to go with the debt ceiling.” Sloan jumped in.

“I thought we dodged that bullet like, back in October.” Jim answered with a frown.

“But that's just it.” She countered swiftly. “'We dodged that bullet.' They get to shoot that gun at us again in early 2014.”

“Go on.” Don encouraged.

“Look. The politicians are doing this to win political points. That's all they're doing. Showing how this fight is foolish and pointless and dangerous is the best way I know to prove that the elected officials in DC are not interested in representing the people that elected them. They're interested in getting re-elected, and for some reason, people think pulling stunts like this is good. They think that it makes their candidates look tough or something.” Sloan summarized. “It's reckless, and selfish on the part of the politicians. Not to mention dangerous to our economy here, to say nothing of the impact abroad.”

Jim conceded with a nod of his head. “I look forward to reading that.”

“I've got something I'm working on.” Neal said.

“It's not Bigfoot is it?” Don said, chewing on the end of a pen and giving Neal a snide smirk.

“Fuck you. No, it's about the NSA's wiretapping and data mining. Their activity is more widespread than people think, and I'm tired of hearing the argument, 'Well, I've got nothing to hide. They can look through my stuff all day long.' If they need the morality of this situation spelled out for them, then I guess I'll do it. I'm fucking sick of that argument.”

“Yeah, me too.” Sloan agreed, taking a long drink of her beer. 

“What's more... this is sort of an involved story, and things are changing all the time. I think this rabbit hole goes pretty far down. So if it's possible, I'd like to make a sort of running series on this.” Neal looked to Don hopefully.

“No, that's good.” Don said with a nod. “That's the kind of content we need. Blech... saying that makes me want to drink Dial soap.” He took a long swig off his beer and grimaced.

“You should only feel that way if the content isn't substantive.” Maggie replied.

“Speaking of substantive. What did you and our local weatherman bring back from the Philippines?” 

Jim glared at Don who ignored him.

“Jim's compiled a good overview and time line of events, plus he has transcripts of all the speeches from officials.” Maggie answered, as she clattered away on her laptop. “And I've got some raw footage, photos, and interviews I want to you all to take a look at. Jim wanted to talk news, but I'm going to write about the influence and use of foreign aid in situations like these. I interviewed the aid workers I was with, as well as hospital officials and some of the citizens of Ormoc.”

“Yeah, I wonder sometimes how donated money gets used.” Neal said thoughtfully. “Or how much of an impact we have as a country.”

“You've got the footage?” Don asked.

“Yeah. Here. I'm going to-” the doorbell cut Maggie off. “To go get the food apparently.”

Maggie passed her computer to Neal and went answered the door. She gathered up the fragrant boxes of curry from the delivery boy, who she tipped generously. As she spread out the food on the breakfast bar, she could hear Nimuel's voice talking about his dead parents and his maimed brother. She had gotten to interview him properly in the days following their arrival at the hospital.

As they ate, each of them set to work on a different task. Jim edited the raw footage of Maggie's interviews and put together his time line of Typhoon Haiyan's formation, landfall, and aftermath. Maggie drew up the rough draft of her article about foreign aid use in natural disasters. Sloan and Don put their heads together on editing her piece about the debt ceiling to make it sound less like an economics lecture at an Ivy League school. And Neal put the last touches on the website. 

And that night, at around 12am, they were about to go live. But at the last minute, Don had a question.

“Hey Neal. The top banner's blank.”

“I know. We... we haven't picked a name.”

“Shit.” Sloan swore. “All this planning and we didn't pick a name?”

“What should we name it, Neal?” Maggie asked, a little frantic.

“Me? I don't know. I take an hour to name an RPG character.”

“A what?” Jim asked.

“Nevermind.” Neal huffed.

“Name it Skinner News.” Don said, his words hushing the room.

They all looked at each other, small emotional smiles tugging at the corners of their mouths.

“Yeah.” Jim said. “I like it.”

Neal set to work editing the banner with a huge grin splitting his face. They got their first hit within an hour of going live.

***

Later that night, Jim woke to find Maggie re-watching her interview with Nimuel on her laptop.

“Babe?” He made the pet name a question as he rolled over, squinting in the blueish light of the screen.  
She just looked at him, her sun burnt apple cheeks were wet with tears.“What's wrong?” He asked. 

“Nothing.” she said in a saturated voice. She laced their hands together on the sheets. “I just... I saved someone this time.”

“You did?” Jim asked dumbly, and then he quickly sought to correct himself. “I mean, of course you did. Probably save lots of pe-”

“No. I mean I helped save his brother.” she pointed at the man on the screen. “The hospital was out of blood, so I donated some of mine since...” she stopped to sniff and wipe her nose gracelessly on her sleeve. “Since I'm a universal donor.”

Jim smiled and squeezed her hand. “Really? I thought you were afraid of needles.”

“I thought I was too.” She said, thickly. “I thought I was afraid of a lot of things.”

He leaned over and kissed her. It was a tender peck which turned into a messy, slightly sniffly kiss that lasted long after her laptop screen went dark.


	8. February 2nd, 2014

February 2nd, 2014

Christmas and the beginning of 2014 gifted the reporters of the Skinner News site with plenty to write about, and so the frigid weeks went by in a blur. The grip of the unusually cold winter was slow in loosening, but on the whole, the group found themselves never lacking for good humor. They took to meeting once a week, either at Sloan and Don's or Maggie and Jim's. They would have dinner, pitch ideas, edit each other's articles, and often engage in pretty lively debate. Politically speaking, the group was more or less aligned, so often arguments were over minutia. And they steered away from any topic involving computers, lest Neal give them all a sound thrashing. Particularly Jim.

They mostly stuck to print media in their publications, though occasionally there was the odd interview or video clip. Everyone chose their topics, unless there was something pressing at hand. Sometimes they chose according to their own interest and expertise, such as Sloan writing extensively about the Federal Reserve and the Senate's confirmation of its new head, Janet Yellen. Other times a topic would be chosen by someone simply because they didn't know much about it, such as Jim choosing to cover the VA scandal. Neither he, nor anyone in his immediate family had ever served, but to Jim, the story raised many larger issues about the military that he wanted to explore. And there were frequent collaborations, like Maggie and Don working together to cover the story about experimental drugs being used in executions.

The Skinner News site was a success, by their standards. They wanted to do the news. And so they were. 

In the first week of February, Sloan suggested that instead of meeting at an apartment, they should come to meet in her office at Hooper Financial. Everyone found this very strange, especially Don, who had actually never been to her office. He had claimed that his skin would fall off due to an allergic reaction to bullshit and thievery. But they all collectively shrugged, and agreed when Sloan said that she needed to discuss something that she had noticed on her Bloomberg terminal.

They all arrived for the meeting in their lounging clothes to find that Sloan was not alone in her office. Leona and Reese Lansing sat in the wing-back chairs in front of Sloan's desk, both looking like modern royalty. A glowing and swollen Mackenzie McHale was reclining as comfortably as she could on the office sofa, and standing just behind her by the window, framed by the steady glow of the city lights, was Will McAvoy. They all smiled as Jamie showed the stunned group into the office.

Don spoke first, summarizing their collective thoughts with his usual tact. “What the fuck is happening?”

“Not even a “Hello, Leona?”” Mrs. Lansing cawed. “Typical.”

“Hi guys!” Sloan said brightly, sweeping out from behind her desk. “So... we aren't having an editing meeting.”

“While my powers of perception could be said to be supremely lacking, I gathered that much.” Don answered, his eyes darting around the room to all the familiar but unexpected faces. 

“I suddenly feel like I just got called to the principle's office.” Neal said. “What is happening exactly?”

“So, something's been happening at ACN over the last six months.” Sloan said, beckoning them over to her computer. 

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked.

“Have any of you watched ACN since we all got fired?” Mackenzie asked, still reclining on the sofa.

The all four of them shook their heads.

“I tried. A few weeks after Charlie's funeral, I tried to watch Elliot's show.” Don replied.

“And?”

“I made it about two minutes.” Don responded flatly.

“Better than me. I made it thirty seconds.” Jim added.

“Right. The point is, it's terrible.” Mackenzie said.

“Damn right it's terrible.” Leona barked. “It's shameful what he did to that network. MY network.”

“Can you fill in the details for those of us who aren't gluttons for punishment?” Neal asked, looking to Don and Mackenzie.

“It's an entertainment news outlet now.” Mackenzie responded. “He turned it into something like E! or MTV, but somehow also covering politics in the same way it covers celebrity news? It's disgraceful.”

There was a collective groan.

“Well, he tried to.” Reese chimed in. “And because he has the organization skills and self awareness of a cane toad, he's failing utterly.”

“Look at his stock prices.” Sloan said, pointing to the screen on the Bloomberg terminal.

“They're in free fall.” Maggie commented as Sloan traced the line. “It's going to tank in... fuck, like a month?” She looked to Sloan who nodded gravely.

Don frowned and leaned closer to read the actual numbers. “Jesus... it's below-”

“The price he bought it for.” Leona finished.

“Wait.” Jim stood and rounded on Mackenzie. “Is that what we're doing here?”

“Is what what we're doing here? I was called to a meeting same as you.” Mackenzie replied, doing her best innocent face, which had never been very good. 

“I was called to an editing meeting for our website so I don't-”

“Which is fabulous by the way.” Leona cut Jim off with a wave of her jeweled hand. “You guys are putting out some pretty deep stuff. How are you getting all these interviews and... and how the hell did you get to the Philippines, Maggie?”

Maggie flushed to the roots of her hair. “Luck. Old contacts from other stories we did at ACN. We've had to be a little unconventional with our topics and approach but-”

“Well, it's fabulous.” she said again. “And I want you to keep doing it. You'll have to worry about speed and accuracy on breaking stories, but I want more of that well researched rep-”

“Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?” Don interrupted. “You're buying back ACN. That's why we're all here.”

“Yep.” Reese replied. “And Pruitt should be here any-”

The door to the office banged open making everyone jump and in strode a red faced Lucas Pruitt with Sloan's secretary Jamie scuttling about in his wake.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared at Leona.

“Hello to you too, Lucas.” Leona said mildly, rising from her chair.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, trying to buy back ACN out from under me?”

“I think I'm going to do just that.” She answered calmly.

“What makes you think-”

“Jamie, close the door please.” Sloan broke in. “Mr. Pruitt, I-”

“Fuck you, you stupid whore.” 

There was a gasp from everyone in the room. Don started forward, hands balled into fists and Jim had to physically restrain him. “Don't do it man.” he whispered. “Will already did it for all of us.”

Don snorted, but didn't smile. “You've got a lot of balls calling her stupid.” he grumbled.

“She's stupid because her stunt sank the boat for all of you. You're the reason that everyone thinks I'm a laughing stock.” Pruitt jabbed a finger at Sloan.

“I'm the reason? Buddy, I'm an economist with the people skills of a dish towel. If one interview by me can tear a hole in your magnificent master plan, then you clearly suck at this beyond my ability to express it.”

“And you do, by the way. In case you were curious.” Mackenzie chimed in.

“Oh. You think so? I have more viewers now than ever!”

“Watching what? Nothing but meaningless and error-ridden drivel. No wonder your stock's so cheap.” Mackenzie retorted. “Did any of you watch the ACN 'coverage' of Nelson Mandela's funeral? Ugh, be glad you didn't. It was an embarrassment to the institution of journalism.”

“Fuck you, you pretentious-.” Pruitt snapped.

“No fuck you.” Will bit back, and a pressurized silence filled the room. Pruitt actually took a step back even though Will never moved. “Your content is suffering and your ad revenue is dropping because you can't hold anyone's attention. No one who wants serious information is watching any more, so you're stuck pandering desperately to those you can easily entertain with shiny objects. And they have the attention span of a toddler with pop-rocks. We're here to take back your now sinking boat. So let's all take a breath, and do business like adults.”

There was a weighty silence before Pruitt rounded on Leona. “So what... you think you're going to buy me out?” He spat.

“Well, I think two things.” She said calmly, sitting down again. “I think either you'll be smart and sell, so these nice people can get back to work.”

“Or?”

“Or I'll buy enough shares to rout you myself... which will involve time, court fees, and all sorts of legal bullshit that will leave you with far less money than if you just sold to me in the first place.” Leona finished.

“But why?” Pruitt persisted.

It was Reese's turn to stand. “Because Charlie Skinner's gang was on to something that was the polar opposite of what you're doing with your “citizen journalism” bullshit. What you eventually want to do is get rid of reporters entirely so you can just run an ad revenue operation with a skeleton crew. I know that's what you're doing because I already thought about doing it and Charlie Skinner made me see reason.” Reese looked around at the former staff of NewsNight and then back at Pruitt. “It's not about the money or the viewer numbers. And I think you've further proven that it can't be. And you're not alone... Will and I both had to learn that lesson. Doing the news can't be about money or ratings or any of that. It's about getting it right and nothing else.”

Pruitt scoffed. “You know what? Have it your way. Take your hemorrhaging news program and watch it sink to the bottom of the sea. I'll send my people over in the morning, Sloan, since apparently you're brokering this deal. I should have never wasted my time with this bullshit.” And with that he skulked from the office.

When the door slammed behind him everyone cheered. Over the chatter, Sloan shouted to Reese and Leona.

“I'll need you and your lawyer here first thing in the morning.” Reese nodded in reply as his mother hugged him.

“So what now?” Jim said, face flushed. 

“Ever the pragmatist.” Mackenzie mused. “I raised you well. Makes me worry less about this one.” She pointed at her belly.

“Now we wait.” Reese answered, with a shrug. “We've got to see if Pruitt is really going to buckle and sell. But the plan is that you all will get your jobs back at ACN.” 

“You... you're kidding.” Neal sputtered. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Leona answered pridefully. “You'll go back to doing what you were doing before. Like Pruitt never happened... more or less.” 

“But... who will be the president of ACN?” Maggie asked.

“Mackenzie will... as soon as she's feeling up to it.” Will took her hand.

“And the EP for NewsNight then?” Maggie pressed. She knew it was all still early but she couldn't help herself.

“Jim Harper.” Mackenzie answered.

“That's gr- wait. What?!” Jim nearly choked.

“Oh. Yeah, forgot to mention that. Since now I'm president of ACN, you're the EP for NewsNight.” 

“But... that... shouldn't Don-”

“Oh, hell no.” Don held up his hands. “I'm assuming Elliot still needs a parent, so I'm good.” 

“But-” Jim stammered.

“But wait!” Neal cut in. “What about Kendra, and Tess, and-”

“They've already been called.” Will replied with an almost fatherly smile. “I think they'll find their way back to the fold, if they haven't found new homes.”

Maggie turned to Jim. “Pinch me”

“What?”

“Pinch me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You'll hit me.”

“I won't. Pinch me.”

Don reached over and pinched her on the back of the knee. She yelped and smacked his shoulder.

“See?” Jim retorted.

“We're really doing this? We get to go back to ACN?” Maggie asked with an exhilarated grin splitting her face before vaporizing into a small frown. “Ow. That really hurt.”

“As far as I can see, the five of you never left.” Leona responded with a fond smile. “That's what made me think to even take a second look at ACN's numbers. Do me a favor? Don't let me down.”

There were excited smiles all around. “We won't.” Sloan replied.

“I told Charlie, and Will, and McMac this after all that bullshit with Dantana, and now I'm going to tell you.” Leona stood, her dress whispering against the upholstery of the chair. “I love ACN. It has caused me more trouble than I can ever imagine dealing with without hefty prescription medication. I thought Genoa was bad but this?” She blew out her cheeks and sighed. “But I love ACN, and consider it not just my patriotic duty but my duty as a citizen of the world to keep it on the air with integrity.”

“Jesus, Leona, when did you get so noble?” Will snorted with a warm smile.

“Fuck you, Willie. I'm not noble. I just don't want to live in an ignorant and petty society when there's something I and my money can do about it.” Leona retorted dryly. “So that's it. Keep doing the news. Do it well. And don't fuck up again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Thank you all for reading. I hope you've enjoyed my first foray into fanfiction in about fifteen years. I think this is the start of what will possibly be a series of fics, where I pick news events and write about them... probably with a bit of Sloan/Don smut to boot. But that will require a lot of research so I can't promise I'll be fast. 
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck, LawlessDragon, and ArcaneIrony for editing, and offering helpful suggestions and corrections.
> 
> One final note: KaminaDuck pointed out that every season, and most episodes have an ending song... so for this one I picked "You're my Home" by Billy Joel.
> 
> Thank you all again for reading. All the best!


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